(9 months, 4 weeks ago)
Lords ChamberMy Lords, I declare my interest as a NED of the NHS Executive. I support this order, for many of the reasons that the noble Lord, Lord Hunt, has just explained, but stress that I am extremely unhappy about the division between the reports from various medics and the associates that are planned. One of the big problems is that we do not value junior doctors enough. The phrase we use is inappropriate. I have been married for 43 years to a doctor who has been called a house officer, a senior house officer, a registrar and a senior registrar—those things would now be referred to as a junior doctor. I want to put that on record.
I also support what the two noble Baronesses have said, which is that we need a distinguishing factor for a qualified doctor, be that “MD” or whatever else is selected by the medical profession. I am a nurse, and I am proud of being a nurse. We have nursing associates, but I know that I am a registered nurse and I know that I have a doctorate, but I would never refer to myself as a doctor in the clinical area. These issues are difficult to deal with because we need to value people’s different experience and training.
I was appointed by a previous Secretary of State to chair the grandfathering of the paramedics on to the new register, when it came into being, and look at the success that that has been.
My Lords, I regret to say that I totally disagree with my noble friend speaking from the Front Bench, a person for whom I have the greatest respect, both as a colleague and as a previous Minister of Health in an earlier Government. He is not medically qualified; he is not a doctor who has been in practice. I speak simply as a fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh and—it seems a bit immodest to say this—I was the triennial gold medal holder at the Royal College of Surgeons in London for innovative research. I never know quite how I got that award, but I did, and it hangs in my lavatory—I probably should not say that either.
There is a very serious issue here: anaesthesia. I do not want to frighten anybody, but I am not exaggerating when I say that there is no point at which a doctor has a patient closer to death than when the patient is anaesthetised under a general anaesthetic. It is then that things can happen which are completely unexpected, and there are all sorts of ways that the qualifications of that anaesthetist are incredibly important. Doing anaesthesiology is, most of the time, deadly dull; nothing goes wrong, you sit there quietly while the surgeon carries on acting out his wonderful role leading the operating theatre and controlling everything. The person who is really at risk is the person who is under anaesthesia, and that is something we should never forget; it is really important.
We do not even understand fully how anaesthetics work. It is true to say that even though we use gas and other agents, how they work exactly on the brain is not certain and we are still learning, years after the first anaesthetics in Victorian times. We have to recognise that this is quite a strange area of medicine, and that is why I am making this speech.
I want to tell a story about an anaesthetist friend of mine with whom I worked. Before I was doing regular in vitro fertilisation, I did a huge amount of reproductive surgery—surgery in the pelvis and telescope examinations, including laparoscopy. He and I worked as a team regularly on a very large number of patients, with complete success. On one occasion, I had a young woman, who was only 19, as my patient. She had severe abdominal pain, and I wondered, for somebody that age to have that pain, whether she had some unusual condition, and I thought she should have a laparoscopy.
My anaesthetist, as he always did, went to see the patient before the surgery and examined her to make certain she was well. He took her into the anaesthetic room and started with the anaesthesia, while I was waiting in the operating theatre. Then, quite suddenly, my anaesthetist friend wheeled the patient in on a trolley and said to me, “Robert, I think we have a spot of trouble here”. That was all he said, but there was something in his tone of voice and I thought, “This is really a weird thing for him to say”. The patient was unconscious and not intubated, and she remained unconscious. Her heart went and she had, in effect, died. We got her on to the operating table and I, as the surgeon, had a decision to make: what do I do? Do I, as the person leading the team, interfere, or do I leave it to my anaesthetist, in whom I had complete trust? I asked him whether he thought I needed to do heart massage or various other things. He said, “No, hang on for a bit”.